


Undisclosed desires

by Queenofthefaceless



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drunk Sandor Clegane, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queenofthefaceless/pseuds/Queenofthefaceless
Summary: In the midst of Sandor Clegane’s most drunken evening, he pays a visit to Sansa Stark and pours his heart out.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

There was a knock on the door, though it didn’t startle Sansa one bit.

She kept flipping through the pages of the book, re-reading some of her favorite poems, including Florian and Jonquil. She only said a gentle _“Come in”_ , not turning around even when a pair of wide footsteps were heard behind her.

“Little bird,” the much too known male voice rasped.

It was only then that Sansa turned around, only to be met with the image of a very drunken Sandor Clegane; so much so that he could barely keep his balance. In what Sansa thought was a nearly potential fall, she rushed to his side to attempt to keep the tall man standing. She was surprised to see him giggle behind his beard.

“You’re enjoying Winterfell I see,” she said, one hand still on his.

“The North really suits you, your Grace,” he said in response.

Sansa couldn’t help but smile a little.

“It’s true,” he then added. “You are loved, and you love all those people back, and you… you never looked this powerful and capable. Beautiful, really. You’re… no longer a little bird.”

Sandor seemed quite depressed as he tried to find the words to enclose his sentence, but Sansa could not comprehend what had gotten into him, why was he there out of the blue, why did he speak of such things. But she first tried to keep the man in one place.

“I no longer am a little bird, that is true,” she confined, grabbing his arm tighter, carefully leading him towards a chair.

“You’re no longer… my little bird.”

“What?”

Sandor sat down at last, and gazed longingly into her eyes like never before. She did not recognize that look - it was not one she was familiar with, least of all from him.

On the other hand, in all the blurriness, Sandor saw her approach him slowly, almost as if in slow motion, her legs forming some sort of gracious dance towards him that sent shivers down his spine. He felt it as real then as he always had. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t shove it down and deny its existence any longer.

“Seems to me there are many things toying with you at the moment,” Sansa said in a low and concerned tone, appearing to be somehow provoking him. “You seem rather troubled tonight.”

Sandor trembled completely.

“You’re the worst thing that’s ever toyed with me,” he muttered, fists and teeth clenched alike.

"Me?”

And at last, Sandor exploded, all his frustrations bursting out like fireworks. He gestured too much with his hands, but even that couldn’t order his thoughts properly.

“For years… years! For years, I… I tried… and hoped it wasn’t t-true. I hoped it was… I was wrong, I hoped that that isn’t… that isn’t how it feels when you… when you feel things. I never felt anything but rage and hate. But I’ve… _yearned_ for you for - for years! Day after day, week after week, the years went by, I moved on and on across this goddamn world, I… I ran, I killed, I… I tried to live. I almost died! Twice! I hoped I’d just… fucking die already, but you… but you never… left me. Why didn’t you _leave me??_ ”

His voice was raised more than usual, practically screaming now, but his eyes unveiled almost a gut-wrenching sadness that made Sansa furrow her brows, part her lips and let Sandor’s harsh arms cling onto her in desperation.

“Why didn’t you leave me?? Huh?? WHY YOU?? Why are YOU the ONE THING that’s got SUCH A FUCKING BIG HOLD OF ME?? WHY DID IT HAVE TO BE YOU?? I CAN’T HAVE YOU! I… Why… why has it been years since I first saw you, and still… you… you own me. You control me, you got your auburn hair and ice eyes into my head, your nails… so deep into my skin that I… I feel ya as part of me. I can’t stop… indulging into every moment with you, I can’t stop, I - I cannot stop for the life of me. And I know I’m a broken man, I am so… fucking damaged and terrible… you have owned me for so fucking long, little bird. And I cannot stop yearning for you. And I hate that so fucking much, I hate you so much for that, I hate myself, I.. I hate this, this, whatever… whatever you have become… cause you’re even better now, if possible. Yeah, fuck! It’s possible. You are better. You’re… your Grace. I hate all of it, I - everything. I’m - sorry.”

Sandor lowered his head, his shocking confession ending as incoherent as it started, but Sansa kept her eyes on him. This was, without a doubt, the most vulnerable she had seen the infamous Hound, Sandor Clegane, the broken who was never taught how to be human. And yet, there he was, in her chambers, delivering an awfully emotional and heartfelt confession to her, the Queen in the North, and she saw at last the lust in his eyes. Even more frightening and real, she saw what she wanted to believe was care and admiration. She not only knew he was fond of her, but _she felt so._

“You’re like a fucking disease, like… like it’s… like you’re in me,” he whispered all whilst looking right at her, pained.

Sansa thought she saw his eyes get teary and she coughed shortly, stroking his cheek two times, breathing in and out to calm herself down.

“You need your beard trimmed,” she said out of the blue, looking around for something sharp.

Sandor was dumbfounded by the unfolding of his confession’s aftermath, and was stunned to say the least upon seeing Sansa so calm and facing it so naturally. After the long speech, his mouth was weirdly dry and his words failed to come out properly anymore, so he stood on the chair in silence, absorbing every single move that Sansa did. After who knows how long, she approached him again, this time holding a knife. She took another chair and took a seat in front of him, guiding his chin with her fingers ever so gently. They locked eyes before Sansa began to trim his beard, all while Sandor felt quite literally drunk _on her._

He felt the steel against his skin and it tingled his senses, yet he did not move. Goosebumps arose on his skin as Sansa’s fingers touched his face every now and then. Sandor barely realized he was holding his breath; he only noticed when he let out a big huff and Sansa stopped, unknowingly cupping his cheek, pulling his face closer to hers. One of Sandor’s hands was shyly roaming around one of her wrists, but he pulled it away. He felt tears running down his face as Sansa grazed her hand against the scarred side of his face.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he muttered, cringing just like a dog in pain.

“I’m almost done.”

Indeed, some time later, Sansa put the knife away and wiped his chin, carefully watching him.

“There. You look much like the Sandor I met back then.”

“You met the Hound, not Sandor Clegane.”

“You still look the same to me. Under all that ruggedness.”

Sandor rubbed his hands together in nervousness, swiftly feeling sober again.

“I’m… I shouldn’t have bothered you tonight.”

“You got very drunk and decided you wanted to see me. No harm done.”

“Not to you maybe, but… me? I’m… fuckin’ consumed. By you.”

Sandor was looking away, struggling to find proper words, now that they had seemingly left his system for good. And Sansa understood him all too well. She learned to understand and be patient, and what she saw was no rough, violent man, but rather a deeply wounded and hurting man who never healed and was finally being transparent about what he wanted.

_He wanted Sansa._

And in that moment, she could finally admit - not only to herself - that she wanted Sandor just as much.

“I don’t know how much of this you will remember on the morrow…” she began saying.

“Aye, who knows…”

“… so I might as well… try something.”

Heart pounding in her chest, breathing hectic and thoughts all over the place, Sansa brought Sandor’s face closer to hers once again and within a dreadfully slow motion, she pressed her lips against his, tasting the mixture of wine and ale on them. His breath was hot as it invaded her mouth, tongues darting and swirling around in a passionate, slow waltz; Sansa almost couldn’t believe it. She never felt that good around someone before, never felt that affectionate, that… _excited_. She felt one of Sandor’s hands on her waist, which was definitely a first, and her whole body caught on fire. There was something absolutely insatiable about that moment, how she never wanted it to end, how she wanted to be his and his only. 

She had to remind herself to stop in order to catch some air, and due to the fact that Sandor was by no means in his rightful mind that evening.

“A Queen kissin’ a dog,” he said, a bit breathless as well. “It’s gonna cause some mumbling.”

“They should all known by now, my favorite animal is the dog. In any form. Let it be a direwolf, a pet dog, or _you_.”

As drunken as he still was, he could’ve sworn he saw Sansa smirk, but he left it aside. He hadn’t been kissed in… who knows however long, and to have that kiss from _her,_ it was by far more than he could’ve imagined or bargained for. He tripped a bit over his own feet, which Sansa took to mean he needed help. She guided him by the arms back to his chamber, ensuring that the man was safe before falling asleep.

“You shouldn’t do this for a fucked up man like me. I should be the one to - to prot - protect you,” he surprisingly slurred his words.

Sansa giggled, much to the delight of Sandor’s ears. 

“What kind of Queen would I be if I wouldn’t watch over the people that I care for?”

Sandor gushed, and hesitated before entering his chamber.

“Goodnight, Sandor,” she wished him.

“Little bird.”

She turned around, eyes filled with curiosity.

“I’ll remember. Tonight.”

Sansa licked her lips unconsciously, suddenly remembering the intimate kiss they had shared only mere seconds ago, feeling hot again.

“I will too. We’ll talk on the morrow, but for now you need some sleep, Sandor.”

“Aye.”

He bowed respectfully, which made Sansa smile and roll her eyes as soon as she turned around and walked towards her own chambers. Oh, how she wished she hadn’t ended things just like that, so abruptly… but she knew it was the right thing to do. And she first wanted to get to know the only man who was ever kind to her and shown her real love, in the way he could.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor’s drunken actions have consequences the day after his confession to Sansa and now he must make the biggest decision of his life.

Sandor’s head was throbbing as the cold hit his face. It felt as if the window had been opened, but with the intensity of his headache it was almost futile to distinguish the details of his chambers, let alone a bloody window.

With one eye open and the other closed, the man got out of his bed eventually, long legs barely coordinating with one another to keep his balance. He struggled to remember what had happened the previous night. He vaguely evoked a memory of him unable to keep his balance and someone helping him out, but he couldn’t make anything clear of it.

He put his clothes back on and headed for the main hall, hoping there was something left there that could make his headache disappear. To his joy, there were many foods still on the table, so he chose to sit somewhere secluded and began eating soon after. He remarked Sansa in the middle of the center table, her back straight, face as gorgeous as ever and solemn, betraying no emotion. She was eating alongside her advisers and friends, and out of the blue Sandor felt the food get stuck down his throat.

_“You own me. You control me. You got your auburn hair and ice eyes into my head, your nails… so deep into my skin that I… I feel ya as part of me. I can’t stop.”_

_“You still look the same to me. Under all the ruggedness.”  
_

_“I’m fuckin’ consumed by you.”  
_

_“I might as well… try something.”_

Sandor’s eyes widened with shock as he remembered just what happened. It was Sansa who held his balance, not just someone. It was Sansa who trimmed his beard. It was Sansa who listened to his drunken and passionately embarrassing confession without judging or making him feel bad. It was Sansa who…

…who kissed him.

Sansa Stark kissed him.

The fucking _Queen_ in the North kissed _him_.

Without overthinking, he had the instinct to reach his lips, as if the kiss still lingered on them. He could’ve sworn it was true, and he still felt the softness of her lips against his, her fingers brushing against his cheeks… all willingly. She willingly kissed him, touched him, and it drove him _insane_.

He noticed Sansa get up and he stood up so fast the whole chamber nearly spun around him, but alas he persisted. He remembered his courtesy - at least around her - and bowed a little before her.

“Your Grace,” he said in a rush.

“You seem to be doing alright this morning.”

“May I speak with you alone, your Grace?”

With his tone demanding and fierce, Sansa followed him with her eyes and knew right away that he had kept his word and remembered the previous night. She was pleased at the thought, truth be told, as she herself couldn’t sleep all that well, replaying that kiss over and over in her mind.

She nodded, following Sandor’s angry steps to an empty chamber. He shut the door behind them with a loud thump, and she suddenly felt unease watching him all fussy.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“What’s the m - ? You kissed me.”

Sansa remained still, confusion taking over her.

“Are you - mad?”

Sandor came closer to her, pressing both his hands on the door, thus trapping her with his body and locking eyes with her. Sansa could read again the familiar anger in his eyes and her breaths increased palpably. But this was no fear she was reminded of. This was something else, of an incredible intensity.

“Why did you do it?” he rasped accusatory.

“You said all those things, and - "

“You felt obligated to do it.”

Sansa’s eyes widened, as she was disappointed and felt a great deal of remorse.

“No, I was not! No! I didn’t do it because I was somehow obliged to, I - “

“The Queen in the North casually kisses the ugliest man alive?! What kind of sick fucking joke is that?!”

“It’s no joke. Stop that! I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you, I - I wanted to feel you, I - “

“Save it. You shouldn’t have.”

As the Sandor in front of her reminder her very much of her days as the innocent little girl in King’s Landing and how cruel the Hound seemed to be with her, she opted to play the royalty card in order to secure his trust.

“You are ought to speak better to the Queen,” she said between her teeth.

Sandor laughed mockingly. 

“My deepest apologies, your highness!” 

“Why are you acting this way? Is it so hard to believe that someone would actually be interested in you?”

“Look at me! Who the fuck would - “

“I would! Me! I have for… I don’t know how long, and when you told me those things, even when you were drunk… especially when you were drunk, I could only assume you bottled up those emotions for so long and that was my chance to seek the truth about my own feelings.”

“And what would those be, your highness?”

Sansa could barely breathe. Not because of the irritation or even the slight fury - but the pure lust residing in her voice and body. She then again remembered the kiss: so intimate and yet full of unspoken and most ardent passion possible. She felt her body tingly and watching Sandor dominate her with his height was more than she could process.

“I want you, Sandor. I kissed you because… I want you.”

Sandor seemed to had let his guard down, brows slightly furrowed at her returned confession. He hadn’t expected it and it most certainly shook him to the core. He could tell when she was honest and that was one of those times. He gulped, feeling insecure.

“You shouldn’t have,” he repeated, blood boiling in his veins.

“Why not?”

“Cause you’ve given me a taste of it, and now I… I want more.”

Silence erupted between the two, only to come to an end as Sandor quite literally attacked Sansa’s lips with his, this time feeling no insecurity, no shame, nothing but a raging desire. She opened her mouth as a response to the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers playfully touching the back of his neck. She felt the wooden door against her back and then, the kiss deepened further. It was different; sloppier, rougher, but more anticipatory. Abruptly, one of Sandor’s hands traveled to her waist, working its way down to her thigh, which caused her to huff into the kiss. Her own hands were now going south and her fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt and belt, eager to abolish them.

_“Your Grace?”_

The voice was accompanied by a patient knock and Sansa jump-scared away from the door, with Sandor growling in frustration.

“I can tell him to fuck off,” he offered, breathless.

“Yes?” Sansa said through the door.

_“Your Grace, we have some riders from the Wall, carrying a message from your brother. Your presence is needed right away, I’m afraid.”_

Sansa looked over at Sandor, his face displaying clear disappointment, but nevertheless he nodded. He crossed his arms at his chest and had no mercy in his look as Sansa opened the door and was met with one of her most trusted advisers.

“Your Grace,” the middle-aged man bowed.

“I was just discussing with Ser Clegane arrangements for a new armor. See that he receives one deemed for a knight.”

“I’m not a knight,” he reminded her.

“Indeed. Not yet. Perhaps we can discuss this as well. Tonight.”

Sansa smiled in a devilish way that Sandor failed to recognize, but it made his heart jump out of his chest and to be filled with excitement. He smirked in return and bowed his head as the Queen exited the chamber, and left him with much to think about before their succeeding encounter.

That one would surely be no waste of time, he would ensure of it at any cost.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor’s secret, life long dream of being a knight is finally fulfilled by Sansa, and his feelings are finally reciprocated.

“Sandor Clegane, your Grace,” her adviser said with a little bow.

“Thank you.”

The wide door was shut behind Sandor, and so he felt rather constricted to look directly at Sansa. Her icy eyes, transmitting a ridiculous warmth each time, caught him off guard once again, thought he believed, foolishly, he might get used to them sometime. But alas, he failed.

There must have been at least 15 other men in that hall, all of them intimidated by Sandor’s fierce appearance, but little did they know how small and insignificant he felt around the Queen.

“I thank you for the armor, your Grace,” he said first with a bow, subtly mocking the courtesies used.

“It suits you.”

She looked him up and down with admiration, and Sandor was not accustomed to it at all. He felt flustered and disarmed for the first time, so he lowered his head as a response. He couldn’t stop reminiscing about his drunken confession to her, how he was so foolish to chase her after all that time.

But she kissed him. Twice.

She wanted to kiss him.

 _Twice_ , no less.

She said so.

It must’ve been true then… wouldn’t it?

“What is this about then?” he asked.

Sansa untangled her hands behind her back and was handed a sword.

“Kneel, Sandor Clegane,” was all she said, sword in one hand, the other tight in a fist.

He was surprised to see her hold properly such a heavy sword and making it look effortlessly. He huffed mockingly, smiling ever so cocky, arms on his hips, looking around with irony. He knew what must be happening, but he be damned if he would believe it.

“I don’t need a stupid title. You can save it for other fools,” he said, then adding “Your Grace” as soon as he was met with her adviser’s harsh face.

“Sandor. _Sit_.”

She spoke clearly and she did not ask again. She stared him down until eventually Sandor approached her, smile fading, and an inexplicable emotion filling him up, taking control over his limbs.

He knew she was serious. He knew she was demanding. And so he did kneel, one hand resting on the leg that was down, head lowered into the ground, as low as it can go. He felt as if he was suffocating out of emotion and nervousness, feelings never before experienced with such intensity.

He could not see how Sansa was equally nervous. She remembered him saying nasty, bashful words about knights and how he never took his vows, how he never wanted to be one of them, but deep down, Sansa reckoned it must have hurt him to see his killer brother receive all the honors and praises and distinctions while he was left behind to watch and be bullied like a stray dog.

She was now sitting right in front of him, her hand grasping tighter the sword, betraying anxiety. She watched him carefully and gulped before finding the rightful words.

The sword tapped his right shoulder.

“In the name of the warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

The sword tapped his left shoulder.

“In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

The sword tapped his right shoulder again.

“In the name of the Mother… I charge you to defend the innocent.”

The sword retreated as Sandor stood petrified, eyes slightly teary locking with Sansa’s, awaiting for a sign of some sort.

“Arise, Sandor Clegane. A knight of Winterfell, the Queen’s most loyal servant from this day forward.”

Sandor smiled at her for the very first time so truly and completely heartfelt, and rose from the ground to the applause and cheers of all the men in the hall. Sandor’s eyes were still teary, and in that moment, all he wished for was to fall at Sansa’s feet, and then at her chest, kiss her and thank her, worship her forever, and however he could. But his newly restored honor would not allow him to do so.

Sansa smiled just as wide, and in an at of trust and pride, she grabbed Sandor’s hand and dragged him alongside her, far away from the looks of the others. She could not wait any longer. She feared if she did, she might burst.

She closed the door to her chambers and smiled at Sandor some more. She finally saw him happy, regardless of what cruel words or thoughts he might have had in the past. She knew he had wanted to be a knight for the longest time, and she was beyond joyful to be the one to offer that dream to him.

And she was beyond astounded at her own feelings for the man in front of her.

“Sansa…”

Though he struggled to find the courage to address her by her first name, Sandor felt even weaker in the knees as soon as the girl nearly rushed into his arms, crashing her lips onto his to form one passionate, lasting and deep kiss. One that was, at last, fair and in confidence, filled with peace and soft sentiment.

Sandor wrapped his hands around her tiny waist, seemingly covering her whole body with his, and she ran her fingers through his hair, at the very end kissing his cheeks, pressing a gentler kiss on his scarred skin, watching him again, uneasy, afraid she might hurt him so.

But she did not.

“I wanted to kiss you for a very long time, Sandor. And now, through your heartfelt confession, I finally…”

“Drunken confession. Your Grace.”

“Shut up with that.”

She kissed him again, this time Sandor picking her up in his arms and putting her slow on the bed, topping her with his height and weight. There were no other sounds in the room but their muffled breaths as they played along with each other, their kisses tracing each other’s skin, soft moans and clothes being removed from their burning skin, each one anticipating more than the other that one sweet moment of release, of undisclosed desire that had been consuming them both for the longest time.


End file.
